Shades of Grey
by Aleph Null
Summary: Deciding whether one is on the side of good or evil is not something a young man should have to do. Draco had thought that his choices were made for him the day he was born into the Malfoy family, but now he's not so certain. Nothing's black and white if
1. Prologue

I was always quietly confident I'd get close to Draco Malfoy.  
  
I'd heard of him even before I came to Hogwarts - our mothers were educated together in Italy and became friends, and although Narcissa broke off contact when she married Lucius, my parents would always point out the mentions of the Malfoys in the Daily Prophet. I think they might have even hoped I'd become friends with Draco - they probably reckoned I could do with a powerful ally at school. You see, there was never any doubt I'd be Sorted into Slytherin, but some members of the house might take less than kindly to the information that my parents never actually sided with Voldemort. Don't get me wrong, we're hardly Ministry pawns; my father simply refuses to compromise the historic Zabini neutrality. It can be a very profitable position in tense times like these.  
  
Draco and I only started talking in our second year. The first one he never seemed to be without his so-called henchmen. God, I swear even Hagrid has more brains than those two. I'm surprised it took him a full twelve months to get bored of such idiocy, but at last he started looking for real friends in our house, and that's when he found me.  
  
I was glad. Against my parents' predictions I hadn't had any hassle from the Death Eater spawn in the house, but I still was happy to have someone intelligent in my own year as a friend. I've always liked school and done well in it, but that goes against the grain in a house where cleverness tends to be shown by ingenious methods of cheating. I got on reasonably well with a couple of girls in third year, but I still ended up spending time with Ravenclaws, as they tend to be bright enough to see that anti- Slytherin prejudices are hasty and ill-judged.  
  
But when I got to know Draco, I saw that he didn't work like the rest of the house. He still doesn't. He knows that everything we're taught is potentially useful, and that it pays to be prepared. That's real cunning, not like Pansy's little essay-thieving spell.  
  
We weren't really even that close. Yes, we'd sit together in History of Magic and sometimes he'd complain to me about how useless Trelawney or Hagrid were and how he'd asked his father to get them sacked, but nothing more. I remember how pissed off he was at the end of the year when despite his efforts that gormless half-giant stayed. "Fucking interfering Harry Potter," he'd say, livid with anger, "he really has to suffer for spoiling my plans. When's Dumbledore going to see that his Golden Gryffindor is a wanker?" Neither me nor the rest of the Slytherins had much of an answer for him.  
  
Many things crystallised in our third year - Draco's hatred of Potter and all the attention he got, for one. It's not as if people ignored Draco - every single first year girl and even several of the older ones in our house had a crush on him. Even the prefects would let him hang around them on occasion - I reckon they saw how useful it could be to get in with the son of a man many saw as Voldemort's second-in-command. He knew the benefit of his position but wanted something honest as well, and so our friendship got stronger.  
  
The fourth year was much the same. The school was dominated by the Tournament, and the whole house was furious that the Hogwarts champion was not from Slytherin. I remember how Draco would watch Potter every step of the way, willing him to fall or trip, to mess up somehow. At least, that's what I reckon - the resentment was so high he wouldn't even talk about it. I still don't know if his father had told him of Voldemort's plans, as that would put a whole other spin on things. Pansy's little interview with Rita Skeeter pleased him enormously, and the two of them became a couple as a result. By then I knew that I was attracted to him, but also that Pansy wasn't much of a setback. A little rumour reached me about how, if she did any more than kiss a boy before she married, her father would send her to Durmstrang. They're an old-fashioned family, the Parkinsons, and it was all for my benefit.  
  
It was the Saturday night after a particularly rough Quidditch practice. Chris Warrington was furious that new team members Crabbe and Goyle had whacked a couple of Bludgers rather too close to him, and they'd ended up in the hospital wing with impressively hexed ears. I didn't know Chris listened in class. Anyway, I was sitting in the common room trying to do a particularly nasty piece of Arithmancy homework ("Using the Pythagorean method, draw and label your primary vibration chart"), and when Draco came in I asked for a bit of help. I remember the exact words he spoke.  
  
"You're stuck on that?" he said dismissively, but his next sentence was friendlier. "I've already done it. The parchment's in the dorm; come and have a look." Such innocuous words, so laden with subtext.  
  
And so I followed him down the narrow stone staircase that spiralled to his room. It wasn't as if we were going to be interrupted (although later he turned out to know some pretty advanced privacy charms) and so, well. things happened. I was mildly surprised and rather impressed. Perhaps I shouldn't have been sleeping with Ravenclaws, even if they were the less swotty ones, but then who else was there in Slytherin? We were the only ones who got laid in our year - Pansy and her little crowd were still doing the giggly girl thing, and as for Millicent and Crabbe and Goyle, well, I didn't even want to think about it. Draco confessed to the same problem, and so we came to an understanding.  
  
And so that's just how it's been these last couple of years. Everyone knows we're friends, and we work together in lessons as we're doing mostly the same N.E.W.T.s. The fucking bit we keep quiet - any long term arrangement like that shows more attachment than is wise in a house like this. Last year Matt Bole, one of the Quidditch chasers, was found to be engaged to some Ravenclaw girl. To make it worse, she was on the other house's team so of course he hadn't been playing tough enough. He was beaten off the squad and the whole house started hexing him at every moment, even whilst he slept. He left a fortnight later without taking his N.E.W.T.s, and the last I heard he was some shop assistant in Knockturn Alley.  
  
No problems. or so I thought for a long while. He was made a prefect this year, and with that came a private room. For the first time we could stay in bed together after having sex. I think it was justified on the grounds of keeping warm rather than affection - you wouldn't believe how cold the dungeons get in winter. I never sleep when this happens. I just sit in bed for hours, watching him lie there with his hair all messy and falling over his face, the way he hates it. Strand by strand I'll brush it back, but then he'll roll over and it'll all be for nothing.  
  
I remember once standing by the window smoking, watching the dawn light up the room. It's a stupid habit I picked up, the smoking. hardly anyone does it here, even in Slytherin. I started one summer when I was staying with my cousins in Italy, and I've kept it up as there's something morbidly relaxing in it. That, and Draco thinks the way I make the smoke coil lazily out of my mouth is sexy. I would hate to break it to him that it's a Muggle vice.  
  
I wish I knew what he dreamt about. We both sleep with other people and that's not a problem, but I've never heard him say another name in his dreams. Sometimes, though, his lips move silently, but I can never read what they're saying. Could be anything, couldn't it.  
  
I didn't realise something was amiss until a month ago. It was after Draco had fought Potter in a Duelling Club match. They were as evenly balanced as ever until Potter mumbled some spell no-one seemed to recognise, and Draco went flying backwards and hit the floor. He didn't try to fight back, didn't even stand up when Potter just walked up to him and stared down at him scornfully. Just wanted to see what the boy would do. know thy enemy.  
  
Far too many of the people here think that Harry Potter isn't like that, that he doesn't feel any resentment or want revenge on anyone except Voldemort. I know that's shit - he truly hates Draco, and he's the only person who does. Even Granger admits he's attractive: I overhead her saying so to the Patil twins, and Weasley's too scared of him to feel hate. He knows that if he does anything, Draco would get his father sacked from the Ministry within seconds. Some people are so naïve that they don't even believe Potter wants to get back at Voldemort, and they think he's doing it all for them or because it's his destiny to save the wizarding world. I don't know. It's sentimental thinking like that which gets us into half these problems.  
  
I don't know why Draco and I ended up talking about him. We'd been to Hogsmeade that day and were slightly drunk after spending most of our time in the Three Broomsticks. It was late when we got back to the castle, but neither of us wanted to sleep, and so we sat in the common room watching the embers of the fire. I mentioned that only we could see this vindictive side of Potter, that everyone else was blinded by his fame and the myth of the Boy Who Lived.  
  
Draco's reply was strange. "It makes him like us. Brave and noble Harry Potter believes in vengeance as much as any Slytherin." There was respect in his voice, unwilling and quiet, but it was undeniably there.  
  
That explained for me why Draco quit the duel, why he's been even more distant and inscrutable lately. it explained a lot of things. He's hated by someone he respects. It goes back a long way, maybe even as far as the rejection of his friendship in the first year. He got obsessed by beating Potter and the rivalry between them came to be a challenge, not a problem. He'd never admit it, but I think Draco's also jealous. Potter, raised by Muggles and with a Mudblood mother, is a hero. All the while Draco has seen Potter as an equal, a worthy adversary, while Potter's never thought anything but shit of him.  
  
The poor stupid boy. I could let the secret of his fascination out; he'd lose status in the house and I'd probably gain quite a bit. But then, if he's down, he might consider it worthwhile to tell about us, and that wouldn't exactly do much good. At least he doesn't know what I feel for him, though that's scant recompense. I couldn't hurt him (or his reputation, perhaps the same thing) however much I'd gain. All these questions and no answers.  
  
Draco confuses everyone, even himself.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Once I thought I had my whole life planned out before me.  
  
I, Pansy Parkinson, was going to pass my O.W.L.s, be made a prefect for Slytherin house, then do N.E.W.T.s in Potions, Transfiguration and Charms. My father wanted me to add History of Magic to that list, but I told him I'd rather do Muggle Studies than that, and he didn't pursue the issue further. The summer after leaving Hogwarts I was to marry Mr. Draco Malfoy, and we would live together on the Malfoy estate.  
  
But I wasn't going to be a passive little trophy wife like Narcissa; no, I intended to work in Flourish & Blotts on Diagon Alley. I'd thought about the shops in Knockturn Alley, but to be frank, I wouldn't want to spend too much time with some of the people there. I mean, we're on the same side, but that doesn't mean I want to mix with them. My parents weren't very happy about the idea of their daughter 'going into trade', and neither, I suspected, would Draco and his parents approve. Still, I was sure I could make them see that it'd be good for me to have a hobby, and besides, a job in a book shop would be innocuous enough to keep me safe if the Dark Lord's plans don't work out.  
  
When Draco and I became a couple in our fourth year, I thought it was all coming together. Perhaps he wasn't as romantic as I had hoped, but he always gave me special treatment, and it really helped my profile in the house. Before every Quidditch match he'd let me listen while the team strategised. I've never been a huge fan of the game - too rough - but it was an honour no-one else got. Draco always used to go on about Potter and how the team had to beat him, even if the match that day was against Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. He'd stand there working out exactly what margin Slytherin needed to win by, arguing with Chris about who should be put out of action. Despite the older boy being captain, Draco always ended up deciding tactics. I was so proud of him.  
  
I think that I was a respite for Draco, providing some relief from the company of those two thugs his father made him keep around. With me he could have a proper conversation, perhaps about how stupid the Ministry was or who he thought would replace Dumbledore. Much of the rest of the time he'd work, though subtly enough that few of the house really knew quite how academic he was. He only considered Blaise sharp enough to work with him, and many nights I'd go to bed without even getting to say goodnight. The two of them would sit, heads together, pouring over some arcane grimoire, entirely impervious to the outside world. I understood that he wanted someone to work with, but that didn't stop the jealousy.  
  
In hindsight, of course, I was an idiot not to see it. I knew Draco was frustrated and, to be honest, surprised by my wish to stay chaste before marriage, but I thought he'd understand. After all, he was going to get it eventually. But no, half way through the fifth year he decided that he needed more, and he broke up with me. Bastard. There went my plan, and I don't like losing control.  
  
I thought he'd start slutting around very publicly, sleeping with half the house, but that never seemed to happen. A lot of people still thought we were together, and he didn't make much effort to inform them otherwise. He didn't want his father to know, I'm sure of that much. It was pretty common knowledge that Lucius had planned for us to marry since we were little more than babies, and Draco wasn't enough of an idiot to go so clearly against his father's plans. I just waited. He'd come back to me eventually.  
  
I desperately wanted to find out who he was with, but I couldn't. As a prefect I had my own room, so I couldn't tell if anyone was sneaking out of their beds at night. In the mornings I'd look to see who seemed tired and flushed, but that didn't help. Even if I had seen someone looking suspicious, how would I know it was Draco they were sleeping with, not someone else? There was no-one he looked at more than usual - nothing changed. He glared at Potter and worked with Blaise just as he'd ever done.  
  
I had to admit defeat and wait for the answer to come to me. I'm still waiting.  
  
Twelve months later and as sixth years we talk maturely, as friends. What he says worries me, although I can't show it. Some of the next generation of Death Eaters have already received the Dark Mark - three boys and a girl who had been two years above us and have now left Hogwarts. My father tells me that the Dark Lord isn't impressed by anyone in the seventh year, so that means Draco, Crabbe and Goyle will be next.  
  
A lot of the house thought he'd get the Mark early, being the son of Lucius and all. His vendetta against Potter seemed so promising, and he's even been to some of the Death Eaters' meetings. But we talk, and no matter how much he tries to keep up appearances, I can hear the doubt in his voice. He knows how strong Hogwarts is, knows that whatever he says about Dumbledore, the man's still a powerful wizard. Most of all, every day he sees how zealous Potter is. We all know it; the question is what decision will we make?  
  
I will follow my family, naturally, and that means siding with the Dark Lord. Of course, I am sure that he will win, but if he doesn't I shouldn't get punished by the Ministry of Magic too harshly. After all, I wouldn't actually be responsible for anything, and I could always tell them that my husband forced me into it. Degrading, perhaps, but it'd keep me alive.  
  
Very few women become Death Eaters - only the strongest and most aggressive of witches get called to him. It was always clear that I wasn't capable enough in combat magic, and so my contribution would be as a wife to prominent Death Eater, namely Draco. I would get the status and the lifestyle I deserve, without too much danger. Bravery and loyalty are for fools.  
  
But now I'm not certain Draco will even become a Death Eater, and surely if he were going to reach the Inner Circle like his father, he'd have got the Mark by now. I suspect he's been putting the process off, waiting to see if the Dark Lord will be weakened or not. No-one wants to join the losing side, and it's uncertain enough now that I can't say which side that'd be. If he becomes a Death Eater but Voldemort dies, then he wouldn't even reach Azkaban before getting the Kiss, and as the Malfoy heir he doesn't want to risk that.  
  
If I were in his position, I would probably do much the same, but that isn't the point. I need to marry a Death Eater, and I am almost certain to marry him. He is reticent, and so I must find a way to force him. If the Dark Lord loses, Draco will almost certainly die, which is a shame, but I think the role of mistress of Malfoy Manor, widowed so tragically young, is one that I would play to perfection. Of course, if we win, then my status is assured and there'd be no problems.  
  
I can't make him join myself. Draco listens to no-one here and takes no advice. However, he has to respect his father. I'm thinking that Lucius really ought to know of his son's unwillingness to join the Death Eaters. That it was me who'd done the telling, Draco is of course not allowed to find out. I can find a way somehow, and win Lucius' appreciation. That would certainly secure my future.  
  
I am getting my life back on track and I will suffer no obstruction.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Snape strode along the corridor, a scowl on his face. He was late, but he thought it hardly his fault taht the dungeons were so far from the headmaster's office. Besides, the previous lesson had been delayed by that idiot Potter putting hens' teeth, of all things, in what should have been a simple courage-inducing potion. The boy should have got a detention, but the professor had the impending meeting on his mind and so just took twenty points from Gryffindor. They were still ninety points ahead of his own house and McGonagall, for all her supposed professionalism, wouldn't let him forget it.  
  
He stopped abruptly at the statue at the bottom of the staircase. What was the damned password? Sweets, always sweets, as though the headmaster's tastes were no more than a child's. Snape's likings tended towards the more adult - the only confectionery he'd admit to enjoying was the dark, bitter continental chocolate his brother sometimes sent him.  
  
"I don't know," he mumbled, half to himself and half to the staircase. "Every Flavour Bites, or Beans, or whatever they're called?" The staircase refused to budge. "Liquorice wands? No, that was last week's." He stood in thought, glaring at the stones for a few seconds. "Ah yes, Ton Tongue Toffees. Those abysmal Weasley twins and their little enterprise." Before his eyes the stones shifted, and still sneering he walked in the study.  
  
"Abysmal, Snape? Shouldn't we be encouraging the entrepreneurs among Hogwarts pupils?"  
  
He jumped, then reprimanded himself for having forgotten that Dumbledore kept a few choice Listening Charms around the school. Of course, it made sense to have one just outside his office, in case anyone felt like a little plotting before going in to see him, but all the same. No-one could say that the old man was losing his touch.  
  
"We should be encouraging hard work, headmaster. I wouldn't want to be open to any accusations of slipping standards."  
  
"I doubt that will be happening to you any time soon. Did you know, I got a letter from the Patil twins' parents. They said that they were so happy that the girls were -"  
  
Snape interrupted the old wizard's ramblings. "I don't believe you called this meeting to discuss those two, professor. Would you mind terribly if I asked you to get to the point? There are some ingredients I need to prepare."  
  
Dumbledore chuckled for a moment. Others might have called the young Potions master insolent, but the headmaster knew how indebted the resistance movement was to him, as well as the caustic nature of the man's character, and so always gave him a little leeway when the niceties of behaviour were concerned. Besides, despite his affable nature, he had precious few friends with the nerve to rebut him so openly. Most were far too overawed by his reputation to do little more than agree. The brave are indeed on the side of the good, he smiled to himself.  
  
"I suppose I shall have to get over it. Now, I do not think you will be surprised that I have requested this little chat to discuss Draco Malfoy. How is the young wizard doing?"  
  
Snape's expression clouded for a second, but he kept his voice even. "As well as any other in Slytherin house. He works harder than I think he wants people to notice; he's asked some perceptive questions of me at times, but never when anyone was watching. Well, no-one except Blaise, with whom he often works with in lessons."  
  
"Ah yes, I rather thought they might be friends," added Dumbledore, his expression bland. There was a pause. "Is there anything else you might like to tell me about him?"  
  
Inwardly scowling that his evasion had been noticed, Snape continued. "His parents are keen for him to do well in life, understandably." The headmaster nodded. "I'm sure you can imagine the path his father believes will lead to such a situation -"  
  
"And so, all too vividly, can Draco, and he's a little less than certain."  
  
"May I respectfully enquire why you called me here? You appear to know quite as much as I do about the boy's position," Snape drawled under hooded lids.  
  
"All in good time. I was hoping for your opinion on the merits of a certain course of action, which, if I may be allowed to continue, I will outline." Popping a pear drop into his mouth, he started on what Snape would have liked to dismiss as another tangent, if he hadn't known that the great wizard always knew exactly what he was doing.  
  
"Lucius seemed very proud of his son when he visited me last week - he was enquiring that, given the boy's intelligence and, ahem, 'the unparalleled reputation of the Malfoy name', Draco was indeed going to be Head Boy next year."  
  
"I would like to see a Slytherin in that role, as I'm sure you know. It has been a while. Have you decided yet?"  
  
"No, not yet. Minerva is pushing me to make Hermione Granger next year's Head Girl," Snape raised his eyes heavenward, and Dumbledore continued to hide a private smile, "but I suspect that she would rather concentrate on her NEWTs. Five is rather a lot, particularly as she's doing it without a Time Turner to avoid the fiasco we had in her fourth year. Anyway, Master Malfoy. Have his parents been in communication much?"  
  
"Headmaster, I hardly read the boy's post. He receives owls at breakfast several times a week, but bearing what I don't know. However, I have reason to believe Narcissa writes separately to Lucius."  
  
"You wouldn't disclose your sources for that last titbit? No, I thought not. How interesting, yes, that certainly puts a new slant on matters," mused Dumbledore aloud.  
  
"And these matters would be exactly?" Snape asked, his irritation apparent.  
  
His manner suddenly grave, Dumbledore lowered his glasses and looked the Potions master straight in the eye as he spoke. "Draco Malfoy is almost certainly going to be ordered to receive the Dark Mark. This may happen soon, so it is a point of considerable urgency. There is a degree of doubt, at least on my behalf, as to whether he will follow his father's directions - I wonder, and of course hope, that he may be more inclined to plough his own furrow. You are here so that I can establish your opinion on influencing that furrow so it is, so to speak, parallel to the one you once trod."  
  
Snape sat back and inhaled sharply. "You want him to be a Death Eater spy."  
  
"Precisely." 


	2. Chapter One

Draco Malfoy stood naked in front of the mirror. The early morning light streaming through an open window made his hair glow white, albino. He held out his arms straight, wrists uppermost, and tried to imagine what they'd look like branded by the Dark Mark. He stood there. He turned, and looked some more.  
  
He'd have learnt a lot more if he'd looked into his eyes.  
The little village of Hogsmeade was abuzz. It was the Sunday before the first day of the winter term at Hogwarts, and all day parents and children had been arriving, laden with trunks and owl cages and Quidditch equipment. The express from King's Cross had pulled in only fifteen minutes ago, and although there was a steady stream of traffic up to school, many pupils had decided to make detours via Honeydukes in order to obtain a last instalment of sugar until the next Hogsmeade weekend.  
  
"Honestly Ron, do you have to get more Chocolate Frogs? You must have bought dozens from the snack trolley on the train."  
  
"I ay' 'em aw," said the lad in question, wiping away the chocolate around his mouth with the sleeve of his robes. Hermione looked pained, and after swallowing vigorously he protested. "It's not that bad! I gave three to Ginny 'cos she'd left her purse in her trunk, and besides, you ate two yourself. Of course I need more!"  
  
Harry watched his friends bicker with a smile. They'd only started arguing more since Ron had finally found the courage to ask Hermione out at the end of the fifth year, and he had no idea how two people could be so quarrelsome and so devoted. Weren't relationships supposed to be about supporting each other and being nice?  
  
He didn't really know - he'd only managed to go out with Padma for two months in the summer, before she ended the relationship because of the press attention. Rita Skeeter had been a reformed character ever since they'd discovered she was an unregistered Animagus in the fourth year - Harry shuddered when he thought of that time - but the Daily Prophet had found a more than competent replacement. Simon Beattie had camped on Padma's front lawn in an attempt to dig up some gossip, and after three weeks she'd decided that it was all too much. He couldn't blame her, but still.  
  
The trio was just a few yards away from the shop when there was a muffled 'pop!' behind them. Immediately Harry swung round, tensed, his wand out and raised, an 'Immobilatus' charm ready on his lips. He was met by the immaculate form of Lucius Malfoy, together with his son Draco, matching disdainful looks on their faces.  
  
"My, we are on edge." Lucius' voice was slow and drawling and made Harry seethe. "Compensation, I suppose. You must be feeling rather redundant; those two don't want you," he pointed to Hermione and Ron, who'd been walking a little way ahead of Harry and had only just noticed the disturbance, "and there hasn't been much call for your so-called heroism of late."  
  
"Not for almost eighteen months," Draco said, butting in, "though why watching your little Hufflepuff friend die is regarded as heroism, I really don't know."  
  
At the sight of the Malfoys, Harry's friends had rejoined him. Ron was rapidly turning red with anger, but under Hermione's pointed glare he was managing not to attack them. The three stood in silent unity, waiting to be left alone; experience had shown that there was nothing to be gained from arguing with Lucius.  
  
"Rather a Slytherin thing to do, actually," Draco continued, letting the words hang in the chill air. "It left the cup free for him. Who'd have thought -"  
  
Harry lunged and Hermione struggled to stop her boyfriend from joining him. He could take so much - he was used to it - but not that. During quieter moments there were many thoughts that ran, unbidden and unstoppable, through his mind, and the question of what would have happened if the Sorting Hat had put him in Slytherin was foremost among them. What would have happened; who would he have been?  
  
His fist connected with Draco's jaw and all those thoughts were banished. For a moment he was focused on the task in hand, namely battering the shit out of the cruel blond boy in front of him, but a second later that stopped. Lucius Malfoy held them both at wand point six inches above the ground and forcedly immobile.  
  
"Draco, I am not impressed. I have bought you the best duelling instructors in the country, and yet you choose to fight like a damned Muggle." His son looked contrite for the moment his father's gaze flicked towards him, but the expression didn't last. "We shall discuss this later; I'm meeting the Minister in under half an hour. I believe the house-elves have taken your things."  
  
And with that he disappeared, Apparating away with only another 'pop!' to betray the fact that someone had just been there. Harry and Draco fell to earth ungracefully, Ron and Hermione immediately closing round their friend, gabbling in shock, whilst Draco just stood there.  
  
"Aren't you going to ask me how I learnt to do that, then?" he asked, eyes wide with genuine surprise at their oversight.  
  
"Do what?" Harry looked as bemused as Ron.  
  
"Isn't it obvious? Draco Apparated here, and the Ministry don't license anyone under eighteen. Not even you, Harry," informed Hermione, in her particularly lecturing tone of voice.  
  
Draco digested this bit of information and decided to smirk. Not bad to be ahead of the great Harry Potter on something. He wondered if his father knew.  
  
The four of them stood in silence for a few moments. There wasn't really anything constructive Harry and Ron could say to this news, and Hermione's presence meant they couldn't do anything particularly destructive to Malfoy and his smug expression. Abruptly the Slytherin turned and left, going into Honeydukes and so largely spoiling Ron's interest in the place.  
  
"C'mon, we might as well head up to school," he said dispiritedly.  
  
Hermione consulted her watch and let out a small shriek, "Ah! We're late, and the prefects have to be there early too! I told you we didn't have time to come into Hogsmeade!"  
  
She picked up her cases, took a few steps and stumbled under the weight. Harry had his wand out and was half way through performing a Reducing Charm, until Hermione noticed and grabbed his arm, saying "We're not allowed to do magic outside school - do you want to get the Ministry on to us?!" She paused for a moment, wondering how he could have forgotten something so obvious, but then remembered the time and started panicking again.  
  
Although most of the carriages had already left, they managed to find one near Madame Rosmerta's. Ron persuaded the driver that no, he didn't really want to wait for Draco Malfoy (who had actually booked it) when he could have the honour of taking the great Harry Potter up to school instead, and so they set off, Harry wanting to upbraid Ron for the misuse of his fame, but knowing he wouldn't understand.  
  
Five minutes later Draco left Honeyduke's discovered the absence of his carriage, and was predictably furious. Blaise, who'd been sitting in the pub and seen what'd happened through the window, told him who had taken it in a tone of exaggerated outrage, and smiled at the resulting tumult of swearing that followed.  
It was nine p.m. and the cream of Slytherin House was assembled in armchairs in front of the fire in their dungeon common room. Blaise had smuggled a case of Italian wine into school and the group was happily imbibing it, those in the know careful not to remind Draco of its Muggle origins. He was in denial about a lot of things, Blaise reflected.  
  
They talked polite inconsequentialities at first - who'd gone where for Christmas, the seventh years' impending NEWTs - and were all rather bored. The unspoken rules governing their interaction only allowed Draco to introduce new topics, and he wanted to particularly emphasise the splendour of his parents' New Year's Eve party. Everyone listened attentively, of course; they'd had so many years of practice that such behaviour was second nature.  
  
A glass or two of wine later, and they moved on to gossip. Pansy was convinced Snape was finally getting some with Professor Vector, and was cooing about how cute it'd be if they got married. Trying to stifle a smile, Blaise recalled comments made by the Arithmancy teacher in the privacy of pillow talk, and suspected that the situation was quite otherwise.  
  
Finally, as the clock hands crept past midnight, Draco decided he could broach the question the whole evening had been designed to ask. People had drunk enough to let their guard down, he reckoned, and they'd talk something approximating to the truth (they were Slytherins, after all; complete honesty couldn't be expected). He started going over in his head precisely what he would say, how best to ask without alerting suspicion - then realised that worrying would get him nowhere, paused, took a deep breath and spoke.  
  
His voice was casual, perfectly honed to avoid giving away an ounce of his true feeling. "So." Pansy and Queenie hushed their gossip, and all eyes were on him. "When are we all getting the Mark then? I hear that the Lord thinks it about time."  
  
Queenie was the first to respond. "Who's got it already - no-one here, yeah? - but who's left Hogwarts recently? Avery must have, and didn't the Bryce sister - you know, the girl whose brother's in the year below us in Ravenclaw?"  
  
"I don't know about her," whispered Blaise faux-confidentially, "but I know her brother's interested. Everyone thinks that all He Who Must Not Be Named's supporters are from Slytherin families, but I don't know why -"  
  
"How many Hufflepuff Death Eaters do you know?" inquired Draco, his voice dripping sarcasm. "My father hasn't hurried to tell me of any."  
  
"I just mean that there's quite a few Durmstrang professors involved, if I'm not mistaken, so it's not as though this house has a monopoly on such a job."  
  
Draco and Blaise stared at each other until the usually glacial blond grinned filthily, making the other look away blushing and hopeful as to the prospects for the rest of the night. Turning away, Blaise saw that Pansy didn't appear to have noticed, and marvelled. Some people don't see what they don't want to - Queenie said something about Harry's reaction to seeing them all with the Mark and an odd look stood for a moment on Draco's face - and I see what I don't want to even when it probably isn't there. Who's the greater fool?  
  
Pansy brought the conversation back on topic. "I don't think I shall be getting the Mark. I support the Dark Lord of course," she gabbled hastily to prevent anyone getting the wrong idea, "but Daddy says I'm too delicate a little flower to do active service." A flower with a will of iron, she thought, but I can't have Draco dearest suspecting anything. "An anliss. ancell."  
  
"Ancillary," Blaise corrected scathingly. "It means 'supporting'."  
  
"I know that! Honestly!" Pansy sounded mortified. "Anyway, Daddy said that he didn't want to see his precious daughter get in any trouble - he's only so protective because he loves me, you know - and that perhaps it'd be best if I just married a Death Eater." She looked pointedly at Draco, who immediately looked away with an expression of mild revulsion on his face.  
  
Blaise leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Oh Drakey, you're so lucky. Pug-face is in lurve with you! What would I give to be in your position?" As desired, Pansy was infuriated, but kept quiet.  
  
"Don't you mean 'what would I give to be in your pants?'"  
  
Fuck fuck fuck, thought Blaise, why can he always see through me when I'm trying to be witty? Ok, maybe the wit failed, but still. Cool air of poise. pants. poise! Damn it! "Later dear, later." That did sound suitably disinterested, right?  
  
Not a muscle in Draco's face moved, and Blaise kept worrying. The others in the group were watching the two of them with more than a little curiosity, and it took a few seconds for Draco to realise that this wasn't a good idea.  
  
"Queenie. You will be with us, I assume?"  
  
"Yeah, definitely - if the Dark Lord will take me that is," she said uncertainly. Draco motioned for her to continue. "My mum's dead set against it - she was in Ravenclaw and I think her grandad was a Muggle - and I'm much closer to my father's side of the family," she added hastily. "He was in Adderwort at Morganville-"  
  
Pansy butted in. "That's the school in the States, isn't it? Some cousins of mine go there - both Adders, of course. It's by far the best House at that school-"  
  
"As I was saying, my father is quite practically minded, knows that you've got to make some hard decisions for the common good - that's a saying of his - and understands how I'd benefit from being a Death Eater. and of course how I could serve the Lord, that goes without saying. He's just determined that I'd really be one of the inner people, not just a foot soldier, and because I haven't got the family tradition we're not sure if I'd be accepted. Draco, you'd know about that. What do you reckon?"  
  
All eyes turned to Draco, who smiled inwardly at the thought of the outspoken Queenie as a Death Eater. "You might have to work harder to prove your obedience, take the less desirable tasks to start off with." An idea sprung into his mind, and he paused for a few moments before continuing. "Perhaps you should start making enquiries now about joining. You'd be the first of our cohort to show your intent, which might help to prove your dedication, and it would give the inner circle longer to consider your request before the others of us put our names down."  
  
Queenie nodded resolutely, her face a picture of conviction.  
  
Draco continued, "I won't be making a move until after the NEWTs, of course. My father agrees that I must finish my education, and besides, it won't take me long to join up. So, I suppose it's the summer then?" he asked, and there was a murmur of agreement.  
  
Soon after people started making their way to their rooms in dribs and drabs, until only Draco remained sitting in front of the fire. Blaise had waited around, hoping to be welcomed back into strong arms and consuming lips, but was unnerved by Draco's prolonged silence and eventually admitted defeat. The young man was left alone, the silence of the old castle heavy around him, only disturbed by the gentle crackle of the flames. He analysed himself, inasmuch as he could, trying to understand why he felt almost glad that he would not have to stand beside his father until nearly August, but fell asleep without any answers. 


End file.
